


Diagnostic Senses

by oneatatime



Category: Kamen Rider Ex-Aid
Genre: Gen, M/M, spoilers for recent episodes as at January 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9258272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/pseuds/oneatatime
Summary: "Panic attacks are a normal response to stress."Can be read as shippy or gen.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borrowedphrases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/gifts).



“Hiiro-san, I – “

“Intern, I’m _also_ sorry that the examiner died,” Hiiro began, completely exasperated with this boy’s fussing. He had a cake waiting for him, and limited time for a break down here. He was on shift in an hour. But then his diagnostic senses clamoured for his attention. He looked at Emu. Properly. 

Increased respiration. Pupils dilated. Hands twisting. Pulse fluttering at the side of the throat. 

It was his impulses as a doctor that led him to place a hand on Emu’s lower back and steer him to a chair. He sat down next to him, keeping a light grip on his shoulder. 

He met Emu’s eyes. “It’s a panic attack. Breathe with me.” He deliberately modelled calm breathing, in and out on slow counts of three. 

Emu’s hands were fisted in his lap, twisting the material of his pants. He looked at Hiiro, looked away, then he lifted one hand to his hair and ruffled his scalp furiously. 

“Kiriya-san,” Emu managed, a small lost miserable exhalation. “What if I can’t...” 

Hiiro....... nodded. Emu’s shoulder was tense under his hand. “I know. Keep breathing. There’s...” He thought back to his sessions on grief counselling. He’d found it all quite ridiculous, really. He hadn’t grieved Saki at all; he hadn’t deserved to. Grief was foolish. But perhaps something from that might be vaguely helpful to Emu. Get him past this, get him back to being at least somewhat effective as a doctor. 

(It definitely wasn’t that he wanted to be kind to Emu.) 

“There’s nothing you can do to bring him back.” Hiiro’s voice was low and quiet, and entirely what he’d been trained to do. Nothing of his own personal feelings. “There’s nothing you can do to make it acceptable, to make it so that you won’t be upset. Panic attacks are a normal response to stress, and you’ll get over this one soon. You...”

He didn’t want to be unnecessarily cruel, but he also didn’t want to minimise how Emu felt. 

“You failed to save the examiner. So did the rest of us. But _we didn’t kill him._ Nothing will fix it, but we can go on, and keep doing the best we can.”

Emu’s mouth worked, clearly struggling to fight back tears. Hiiro tchhed under his breath, and produced a tissue from his pocket. He gave it to him, without taking his other hand off Emu’s shoulder. (A tissue, not a handkerchief – so unsanitary.) “I’m sorry,” Emu said damply into Hiiro’s shoulder.

Wait.

When had they embraced?

Hiiro blinked rapidly, then sighed, rubbed Emu’s back. Well. Nothing else for it. Might as well say the last part of his stupid grief counselling session. “You don’t need to be sorry. It’s all right to be – be sad.” 

He near choked on the last half of that, and with great surprise had to rub his eyes. 

Emu didn’t say anything back, and Hiiro was quite glad of that. Emu just resettled his arms around Hiiro’s lower back, and turned his head so his cheek was on Hiiro’s shoulder, facing away. 

Hiiro stared patiently at the wall, letting him have his time. He was definitely not appreciating the way Emu nestled into him so trustingly. He was doing this purely as a doctor, after all.


End file.
